


Balls

by shamusandstone (theleaveswant)



Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Pool & Billiards, Strip Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-20
Updated: 2009-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/shamusandstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killing time in a dustbowl town, Dean invites the local mechanic's daughter onto his ship for a friendly game of pool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balls

**Author's Note:**

> Fusion in Firefly universe, pre-series, no specific spoilers for Supernatural (call it S2ish?).

"Whoa there," the girl, Kaylee, says, "slow down. Ain't no hurry." Dean grins and does as she says, dragging his fingers slow as glaciers down his own chest to pry the next button on his shirt. He watches the quick flash of her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips—damn, but she's cute—then fumbles and has to look down at his hands while he frees the last three buttons. He meets her warm brown eyes, heavy-lidded with beer buzz and undisguised lust, and shrugs off the shirt with a shimmy and a quirked eyebrow. "And the vest."

"Of course." He says, lacing the words with gravel, just the edge of a grunt, and peels his undershirt over his head. He drops it on the floor with the rest of his cast-off clothes and stands, chest ever-so-slightly puffed and arms ever-so-slightly tense, showing off to best effect what he knows to be a particularly winsome torso.

"Now twirl," she commands, spinning her cue demonstratively. Dean obeys, chuckling, then grabs for the flailing cue and pulls her along with it, off the edge of the table and into his arms. Her giggling fades away and she lays one tiny hand on the smooth skin over his breastbone. "You know, you're runnin' out of clothes awful quick. You'd think you'd be better at this, havin' your own table to practice on and all."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just playin' nice, trying to even the odds on account of you had so little clothes on to begin with." He steps away from her, tracing down her figure with his eyes, then winks and starts lining up his next shot. It's almost true, what he said. He has been going easy, but she's no slouch either. She could very well keep on kicking his butt, and considering he's already down to his jeans and she's still fully covered . . . That's okay. Just means it's time to start playing dirty.  
*  
Dean ran into Kaylee this evening outside the garage her dad runs. Sam had gone to talk with some folks about the hunt they're chasing. The folks in question had already seen (and taken an irrational disliking to) Dean's face on the cortex earlier, so Sam had felt they'd be more willing to talk to him alone. Hating to be left home, Dean was sufficiently bored and restless to take himself for a walk with no destination.

He happened to reach the shop just as the girl was closing up, and loitered a moment to watch the big tin-sheet doors shudder down and wince at their agonized squeal. The girl, whose name he hadn't known then, snapped a pair of rusty padlocks into place before turning towards the street, eyes shaded against the low-slanting sun and apparently impervious to the wind whipping brown hair into her face and flapping her dress against her thighs. She waved when she saw him watching, so he waved back. He started to resume his moseying, but she called out a greeting as she crunched her way down the gravel drive. He waited for her to catch him up.

They exchanged names. Dean told her that he'd seen her working inside when he and Sam came by earlier to buy fuel from her dad, told her she clearly knew her stuff. He asked if she'd learned it all from the old man. "Some of it," she answered, "rest I just sort of picked up on my own."

She was pretty, up close. A little bit mousy but there was something real promising about that smile, so he asked her what the locals did for a good time. She frowned—not much. Times were hard, this part of the Rim, and around this dusty little town especially so. She told him how the drive-in had closed down last year, and the bowling alley two years before, and the old swimming hole was halfway-dried up. There was one bar still open, but even that wasn't any fun lately, since the billiard table got smashed up and though the owners had promised it would be fixed a month ago there had as yet been no movement. Aha, Dean thought.

It just so happened that, since he and Sam crewed the Impala pretty much on their own these days, Dean had just finished converting one of the spare bunks into a rec room (or so it looked on the surface), complete with bar-sized table. Would she perhaps like to come back for a frame or two? She would, if he wouldn't mind stopping by the vendor on the way to pick up the case of beer the kid on duty owed Kaylee for fixing his dirt bike.

They wandered leisurely back to his ship as the sun sank lower. Dean was first pleased by and then a little jealous of the reverent intimacy with which Kaylee approached, inspected and caressed his baby, then pleased again when she commended him for the work he'd done.

Once inside Dean cracked the carton and handed her a beer, but didn't let go of the bottle. Instead he followed the line of his own arm, gliding into her personal space. She blinked up at him and asked where the table was. Table? "You offered me a game, remember?"

Dean cursed himself silently for thinking with his pecker and led her to the hatch, descending first to clear off the scattering of laundry, weapons, charms and other jetsam germane to the life of a hunter on the road and pile it as inconspicuously as possible in the corner. "You play Killer Eights?"

She nodded, testing the weight of the cue he handed her. ""What's the action—garment a ball? Last one naked wins and vice versa?"

"Sounds fair." Dean smirked and racked the stripes and solids. Seemed she was game after all—this could be very fun.

She won his jacket and boots on the break, claiming stripes. He took her cardigan, then scratched, losing his socks in forfeit. She pocketed two more on the next inning, and there went his shirt and vest. Next turn he sank two in quick succession, then nearly dropped the eight to end the game but instead left it sitting between the knuckles of the side pocket.   
*  
Kaylee bats her eyes as she unties her boots and rolls her purple-striped stockings down over her knees. Although her fingernails are chipped and dark from working with machines all day, her toenails are perfect, filed and gleaming with pink polish. "It's a good thing this game is almost over. I'm down to my dress and panties."

"You've still got a lead on me. I'm having a commando day."

"That so," she smirks as she sidles barefoot up to the table and sets her angle to pick off the exposed eight.

"It is. Here," Dean rests one hand on the shoulder of her extended arm and the other on her opposite hip. He lays his body against hers and nuzzles into the back of her neck. The green splotches printed all over her dress, he observes, are butterflies. "Steady."

Kaylee sighs and twitches her shoulders, trying to focus on the game. "You really think I need your help?"

"Need?" He shakes his head, and Kaylee giggles at the tickle of his nose against her neck. "_Want . . ._" He skims the line of her jaw with his tongue and tugs her earlobe gently between his lips. She gasps and presses into him. He knows she must feel his cock digging into her thigh through his jeans. He inches his fingers around the front of her body and she squirms, nudging the white ball with the ferrule.

Dean tsks and (reluctantly) steps away, pulling the cue from her lax grip. She straightens and faces him, scowling, fists planted on hips. "That's not fair."

"Life rarely is." He inspects the table. The cue ball has rolled out of alignment with the eight, so he improves its position by potting one of his remaining object balls. He looks at Kaylee, leaning on the cue.

"You know you get another shot."

"I'll take it. I want to watch you strip first." That's not a lie, except as far as it omits the fact that he's so keyed up his hands are shaking and he's sure to dog the shot. So close to winning he can almost taste it (and doesn't she taste delicious), and he's got the gorram yips.

Kaylee starts to reach behind her for the ribbon of her dress, then cocks her head like she's just got a better idea. She pushes her hands down her body, rolling the waistband of her panties down over her hips, underneath her skirt. "Co-man-do," she sing-songs, wriggling her hips to shake the panties down her thighs. They drop silently to the floor and she steps forward out of them, nudging them out of the way with one foot. She beams at Dean like a summer day.

Dean drops the cue and grabs her around the waist. She rises up on tiptoe to kiss him and he sinks his fingers into the soft flesh of her ass through the fabric of her dress, crushing butterflies.

They neck hungrily for a minute or two before Kaylee starts fumbling for his fly. Dean groans and pulls her hands away because, as badly as he wants those nimble little fingers to stroke around his cock, to squeeze his nuts while her wet mouth slides over his head . . . she hasn't won yet.

He backs her up to the wall step by step and pins her wrists over her head with one hand while the other explores her body. He traces his fingers down her throat, across her chest, pausing to cup one round breast. He ducks his head to suck the nipple poking taut and eager through the fabric while his hand continues down to her hip, swooping to grope her ass, then skipping down to her knee.

He pushes his fingers under the hem of her dress, switching his tongue to her other tit, and starts creeping his fingertips slowly, so slowly, up the inside of her thigh. She shifts her weight, moving her legs wider apart, and frees one hand to bury her fingers in his hair. He's halfway up her thigh and she's already making these delicious little panting noises when—

"Dean!" He grimaces, leaning his forehead on her collarbone. If it were the girl in front of him voicing his name with such urgency, Dean would be delighted, but it's not. It's his idiot brother's familiar holler echoing through the ship, accompanied by the clatter of boots on the grating above.

"What's—" Kaylee gasps, as Sam drops through the hatch with a thud.

"Come on Dean, we've got to go now!" Sam freezes when he sees his brother's compromised position and murderous expression. There goes the mood.

Kaylee glances from face to face, then clumsily extricates herself from between Dean and the wall while muttering something about how it's probably time she got home anyway. She tugs on her boots, drapes her sweater over one shoulder and wads up her other clothes. She pauses at the foot of the ladder and offers Dean a smile, a shrug and a "See you around, maybe," then ascends fast as a jackrabbit.

"I'm sorry!" Sam calls, glancing up after her, then quickly turns his face to the floor and blushes from collar to hairline.

"Balls!" Dean smacks his palm on the table. He starts to chuckle when the the cue ball skitters across the baize, nudging the eight into the pocket with a satisfied clink, then howls with laughter over Sam's choked mutter:

"Not that I could see."

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I know about cue sports I learned from movies and Wikipedia, so I'm sure this is full of stupid errors (I do know they're not playing by the rules of any existing game that I can find a name for, so let's pretend it's a Game of the Future which is basically the same as eight-ball except that pocketing the eight is an automatic win, like with the nine in nine-ball, instead of a loss. Why didn't I just make them play an actual game? I do not know).


End file.
